that has 50 states instead of 16.
I've been here for 4 days and already my fears have been realized: I'm freaking confused.
Today I went for a drive in a car that, by American standards, was small, but it felt freaking huge next to the cars and cycles and scooters I drove in India. It was my first drive since almost going headlong into a huge ass bus on my last cycle ride from my host home to the SITA program, and the following things were strinkingly missing:
-Aggressive drivers (In the south, there's something called driver courtesy. In the south of India, there's something called "I need to get to where I'm going. Get out of my way." This quote is dependent, however, on the vehicle size).
-Speed Limit Signs: yes, there are speed limit signs in India, but does anyone ever look at them? Going 30 in a 25 zone seemed far too slow for a car of my size.
-Hand Gestures out the windows of cars or off the sides of autos/motorbikes/cycles saying "get out of my way" or "hey, I'm cutting you off, slow down" or "hi you're barreling straight toward me, I'm going left (cue hand gesture) and I'm gonna hope that you're gonna go right"
-NO BEEPING?!?!U()#_*@*!_)*(@$ (IT WAS FAR TOO QUIET TO BE ON A ROAD)
-No pedestrian obstacles: India has sidewalks, but they're more like guidelines really. As such, people end up jaywalking the crap out of the roads and making large bubbles of crowds that often stretches far into the street
-No random rallies that shuts down the entire block, regardless of whether convenient or not
-I was driving on the right side of the road, only allowed to take a right on red and having to glare at oncoming traffic for lefts. I almost drove on the left when there was no middle line, and a garbage truck beeped at me. He had it right, of course, but man it sure tells you a lot about how engrained your thinking is there.
-No divots in the road. And with the excess of shocks on American cars, I was really surprised at how not blistered my butt was by the time I got out of the car.
The list goes on, but I feel like you get the point.
In a word, it's too easy to drive here. I'm not saying I'm gonna start a police chase down the wrong side of the road on I-40 (huge highway near Chapel Hill), but man it would be really great if there was a little bit more chaos. It was awesome driving in India because you were focusing on it so much that you were totally engrossed in what you were doing: just living in the moment and using your driving and awareness skills to own the road ahead of you. So it was disappointing getting in my manual car (which, as I've told a lot of people, is a lot funner than automatic) and driving here for the first time.
In 5 days, I set off again for an excursion up the atlantic to see a bunch of friends I haven't seen in a while. One I haven't seen since my junior year of high school, but we have kept in touch since then. I'll end the adventure at Colby, where I'll be singing/learning music in a week for the a cappella show during senior week. I can't wait to get back to Colby.
I have a lot of dead space here in NC, and it's really getting to me/eating me away. I just had way too much to do/a lot to look forward to/a lot to experience in Madurai/India as a whole that I have found that the little things I have to do (aka, clean my room for an upcoming guest, book train tickets and activate my visa check card) really unmotivating and not very fun at all. Coelho would say that I should value the little things in my life, but on a grander scale, my life here is at a standstill until I go to visit Asheville in 3 days and take that Atlantic trip. Maybe I'll arrange some music just for fun, cause I haven't done that in a while.
I kind of expected this to happen actually, but I didn't think it would be this draining. My jetlag is almost through, but I'm still struggling when it comes to the later parts of the night (and if I get through those points, then I'm wired and awake, like I am now; note the 2:00 AM post time).
I used my cell phone for the first time today since I left, and it was freaking weird. But I hadn't forgotten how to T9-- that mechanism is permanently engrained in my memory. I texted like a madman and often didn't really know what to say to people when they responded. It was like I had just been handed the handbook on social skills and told to relearn everything I had learned before I went to India. I suppose that means I really engrained myself there, but that seems to be having some lovely repurcussions on my ability to transition back here.
YAY REVERSE CULTURE SHOCK!
Love and miss you Indian folk. I'll be back soon and I'll be sure to email you all individually when I stop being so incoherent!
Hasan
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Namaste: I leave in 27 hours
Yeah, I was pretty disturbed to calculate that number too.
I'm in between a lot of emotions, the foremost being anxiety. I'm about to transition out of the life I've lived for the last 4 months. I never thought I would say this, but thank god I'm leaving at 2:00 AM. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I had to leave the next day.
Anyways, I'm sad to be leaving again. The last time I left I have a pretty engrained snipet of crying over my mom's shoulder. I don't think I'll repeat the same scene, but it might be filled with similar emotions. I've met so many people here that I've come to love and experienced so much that to leave physically from the space is probably one of the more harder transitions I've had to do.
It's one of those things that I won't realize until I step onto or off the plane. That's how it always seems to happen with me-- I don't process until the aftermath.
Anyways, there isn't much to update that can't be written in at least 45 minutes, so I'll just say that my time alone was refreshing, incredible, and very rewarding. I had some of the most intense, personal, and incredible interactions of my life and had experiences that really, at times, blew my mind and conscience wide open. I was able to just be-- living and marveling at the things I saw and did at every single moment of my experience. It was really rejuvenating, similar to the feeling I had while going out and doing field research during my IS period, except this time I had little to guilt trip me.
I'll probably post another before I leave, but if I don't, I just wanted to say thanks to India and to all that it gave me regardless of the form (people, experiences, fun times, frustrating times, getting ripped off, you know, that sort of thing). I couldn't have done it without you.
Love and miss, and I"ll be back before you know it :-)
Hasan
I'm in between a lot of emotions, the foremost being anxiety. I'm about to transition out of the life I've lived for the last 4 months. I never thought I would say this, but thank god I'm leaving at 2:00 AM. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I had to leave the next day.
Anyways, I'm sad to be leaving again. The last time I left I have a pretty engrained snipet of crying over my mom's shoulder. I don't think I'll repeat the same scene, but it might be filled with similar emotions. I've met so many people here that I've come to love and experienced so much that to leave physically from the space is probably one of the more harder transitions I've had to do.
It's one of those things that I won't realize until I step onto or off the plane. That's how it always seems to happen with me-- I don't process until the aftermath.
Anyways, there isn't much to update that can't be written in at least 45 minutes, so I'll just say that my time alone was refreshing, incredible, and very rewarding. I had some of the most intense, personal, and incredible interactions of my life and had experiences that really, at times, blew my mind and conscience wide open. I was able to just be-- living and marveling at the things I saw and did at every single moment of my experience. It was really rejuvenating, similar to the feeling I had while going out and doing field research during my IS period, except this time I had little to guilt trip me.
I'll probably post another before I leave, but if I don't, I just wanted to say thanks to India and to all that it gave me regardless of the form (people, experiences, fun times, frustrating times, getting ripped off, you know, that sort of thing). I couldn't have done it without you.
Love and miss, and I"ll be back before you know it :-)
Hasan
Friday, April 17, 2009
India #10: Tomorrow
I leave Madurai, the place where I have lived for the last 3 months. As such, I've decided to make a list of what I would direly miss when I leave here in less than 24 hours.
The things I will miss most:
-That fucking auto driver, whoever he is, who would always run me into the curb on the way to school. (note: 'that fucking auto driver' applies to any crazy India driver who would cut me off
-Being that fucking cycle guy who would zoom past two wheelers or cut off people in order to squeeze through a one foot hole through a congested intersection.
-Racing school boys to Tamil class and/or a two wheeler with an agressive driver
-Pineapple slices everyday for lunch at a local fruit dealer
-Interacting with the internet cafe people (the one with bright orange cubicles and an insane amount of room)
-Hearing high pitched "HIIIIIIIII"s from random people, both kids and adults
-Saying vanakkam (greeting word which, if said the right way, sounds very vulgar in English) and getting a giggle and a "Tamil Teriyumahhh (He knows tamil?!)?!" in return
-Dr. Arun, my Tamil teacher, because of his great phrases, overall jubilance, and because, to put it bluntly, the man is a beast at Tamil.
-My host mother. The talks we had were incredible, and we managed to get really close to each other over the past three months. I have no idea what I would do if she wasn't my host mother. She also was an excellent cook, and her sassyness will never cease to entertain me.
-My host brother (age 13), for all his exclamations (example: ayooyooooooo *hits his face*), facial expressions, antics, fake wounds (he once tatooed a red cut by the side of his eye and convinced me, with acting involved, that he had just fallen down the stairs), hilarious phrases/one liners (Just a small sample: Why did the woman tiptoe past the medicine cabinet? So she wouldn't wake the sleeping pills. What clothes do ducks wear? Duxedoes.), and sarcasm.
-My host sister (age 8), for always being what a little 8 year old sister is: cute, hilarious, attention-seeking, always wanting a piggy back ride (regardless of the locale), smiley, laughing, jumpy, and energetic. If I was ever in a bad mood or annoyed, she would always cheer me up, regardless of what she did.
-My mother's digital camera. God rest it's soul.
-The cow that bumped me to the side when it wanted to walk where I was standing
-The gross amount of noise you confront whenever you're outside (whether it be automobile exhaust, beeping, random concert loudspeakers blaring traditional hindi/tamil music, or a political speech/rally)
-The gross amount of smells you confront whenever you're outside (including automobile exhaust, sewer smell, jasmine, tea, coffee, wet road/mud, dust, spices)
-The gross amount of color you see whenever you look around you
-Sketchy internet cafes, that almost always, under the history or pop out address bar, had at least five porn sites that had been visited within the last five hours (which made the seat you were sitting in just that more besmirched). WHen you know you are in a sketchy internet cafe: the letter 'U' and the right arrow key have been switched on the keyboard and your chair is warm.
-The immense amount of sweat (we're talking gallons) that evaporated off me because of physical exertion through 90+ degree fareinheit weather for the past four months.
-Random people trying to get me to come into their shop for free (what the hell does that even mean?)
-Meshach and Senthil, my two interpretors, because they gave me the most memorable experiences I've had since being here (one of them being my birthday).
-The SITA group. Though we didn't get along too well or make very close relationships, the friendly atmosphere was all that anyone needed to have a great time in a city like this
-All the people I talked to, regardless of the seriousness or absurdity of our discussion (this ranged from watermelons being equivalent to testicles--don't ask, I just smiled and nodded-- to why Obama is screwing over India)
-The guy who thought I could get him an appointment with the Guiness Book of World Records for having a 4-5 year old nephew that could name every country in the world in a minute and 49 seconds.
-Ashok Bhavan-- my favorite stop in lunch meal place (for, get this, 50 cents a meal)
-Random festivals or rallies in the middle of busy streets without warning or explanation
-The song that cars play when they back up (whenever a car is in reverse here, it plays the theme song of AirTel, an Indian telephone company. I'll sing it for you if you're really that curious when I get back).
-Biscuits/Milk Bikis
-Tea/Coffee/Lime Juice four times a day
-INDIAN FOOD (though right now I'm not so into it-- the whole group and a couple of Indians got food poisoning from the hotel we stayed at a few days ago in the mountain town of Kodaikanal-- it was a 4,400 rupee, like 100 dollors, a night place plus room and board, and yet they still served shitty food. I'm also taking some with me in the form of recipes)
-The Butt Gun (device that acts as toilet paper, except it uses water, and a lot of pressure)
-The fashion/clothes worn by everyone here
-The couple that ran the internet cafe across the street from the abroad center, despite the fact that the internet was about as fast as a 44 kb/sec dial-up connection.
-My cycle (bless it's soul. It was falling apart).
-Hampi.
-Pirated DVDs sold at 20 rupees, aka 40 cents, a movie
-Seeing people or talking with people that would make me realize how beautiful life really is, and how we should learn to cherish every single moment of our life, regardless of its banality or erraticness
-Coming back home at 7:30 pm, and calling it "late" (Madurai shuts down, like Chapel Hill, after 9:30 PM)
-Waking up at 6:30 AM each morning (hopefully this will continue, cause god it felt good)
-Voice lessons (so fun)
-Wearing a Veshti/Lungi (manskirt) and not have it be a cause for concern
-Not being on facebook (alas, I'm back on it)
-Being spoken to in rapid tamil and expected to respond easily/just as fast as he/she did
-Tamil TV (indescribably hilarious)
-Playing Cricket with the kids on my program and other host brothers, always with a crowd of 15 year old boys around either staring at us like we're lunatics or smiling and waving and using the three sentences of English they knew (and us responding with the three sentences of Tamil we knew; thankfully, the sentences we both knew often overlapped)
-Incense (which was in every closed space anywhere)
-The architecture/art in temples
-The mosquitoes that hovered in my room every night. Some could make the argument that they got very up in my grill (I actually stopped killing them before I went to bed each night, and I got used to them biting me. Now I only wake up with like four bites)
-The line of ants that used to go through my room to the kitchen (it disappeared because we moved, but soon came back in the new house)
-The moustaches (every guy over the age of 18 had a moustache. My translators was, by far, the most badass: it was a handlebar stache)
-Being able to throw trash/excess food on the ground and not have anyone say "pick that shit up"
-Indians and their waiting tactics (Some people make you wait with WHATEVER you try to do, just so they can do it)
I think that's all I've got for now, there may be a more extensive list when I'm about to leave on April 29th (my flight is technically on April 30th... at 2:00 AM IN THE MORNING. WTF LUFTHANSA)
Love and miss, and I'll be back soon!
Hasan
The things I will miss most:
-That fucking auto driver, whoever he is, who would always run me into the curb on the way to school. (note: 'that fucking auto driver' applies to any crazy India driver who would cut me off
-Being that fucking cycle guy who would zoom past two wheelers or cut off people in order to squeeze through a one foot hole through a congested intersection.
-Racing school boys to Tamil class and/or a two wheeler with an agressive driver
-Pineapple slices everyday for lunch at a local fruit dealer
-Interacting with the internet cafe people (the one with bright orange cubicles and an insane amount of room)
-Hearing high pitched "HIIIIIIIII"s from random people, both kids and adults
-Saying vanakkam (greeting word which, if said the right way, sounds very vulgar in English) and getting a giggle and a "Tamil Teriyumahhh (He knows tamil?!)?!" in return
-Dr. Arun, my Tamil teacher, because of his great phrases, overall jubilance, and because, to put it bluntly, the man is a beast at Tamil.
-My host mother. The talks we had were incredible, and we managed to get really close to each other over the past three months. I have no idea what I would do if she wasn't my host mother. She also was an excellent cook, and her sassyness will never cease to entertain me.
-My host brother (age 13), for all his exclamations (example: ayooyooooooo *hits his face*), facial expressions, antics, fake wounds (he once tatooed a red cut by the side of his eye and convinced me, with acting involved, that he had just fallen down the stairs), hilarious phrases/one liners (Just a small sample: Why did the woman tiptoe past the medicine cabinet? So she wouldn't wake the sleeping pills. What clothes do ducks wear? Duxedoes.), and sarcasm.
-My host sister (age 8), for always being what a little 8 year old sister is: cute, hilarious, attention-seeking, always wanting a piggy back ride (regardless of the locale), smiley, laughing, jumpy, and energetic. If I was ever in a bad mood or annoyed, she would always cheer me up, regardless of what she did.
-My mother's digital camera. God rest it's soul.
-The cow that bumped me to the side when it wanted to walk where I was standing
-The gross amount of noise you confront whenever you're outside (whether it be automobile exhaust, beeping, random concert loudspeakers blaring traditional hindi/tamil music, or a political speech/rally)
-The gross amount of smells you confront whenever you're outside (including automobile exhaust, sewer smell, jasmine, tea, coffee, wet road/mud, dust, spices)
-The gross amount of color you see whenever you look around you
-Sketchy internet cafes, that almost always, under the history or pop out address bar, had at least five porn sites that had been visited within the last five hours (which made the seat you were sitting in just that more besmirched). WHen you know you are in a sketchy internet cafe: the letter 'U' and the right arrow key have been switched on the keyboard and your chair is warm.
-The immense amount of sweat (we're talking gallons) that evaporated off me because of physical exertion through 90+ degree fareinheit weather for the past four months.
-Random people trying to get me to come into their shop for free (what the hell does that even mean?)
-Meshach and Senthil, my two interpretors, because they gave me the most memorable experiences I've had since being here (one of them being my birthday).
-The SITA group. Though we didn't get along too well or make very close relationships, the friendly atmosphere was all that anyone needed to have a great time in a city like this
-All the people I talked to, regardless of the seriousness or absurdity of our discussion (this ranged from watermelons being equivalent to testicles--don't ask, I just smiled and nodded-- to why Obama is screwing over India)
-The guy who thought I could get him an appointment with the Guiness Book of World Records for having a 4-5 year old nephew that could name every country in the world in a minute and 49 seconds.
-Ashok Bhavan-- my favorite stop in lunch meal place (for, get this, 50 cents a meal)
-Random festivals or rallies in the middle of busy streets without warning or explanation
-The song that cars play when they back up (whenever a car is in reverse here, it plays the theme song of AirTel, an Indian telephone company. I'll sing it for you if you're really that curious when I get back).
-Biscuits/Milk Bikis
-Tea/Coffee/Lime Juice four times a day
-INDIAN FOOD (though right now I'm not so into it-- the whole group and a couple of Indians got food poisoning from the hotel we stayed at a few days ago in the mountain town of Kodaikanal-- it was a 4,400 rupee, like 100 dollors, a night place plus room and board, and yet they still served shitty food. I'm also taking some with me in the form of recipes)
-The Butt Gun (device that acts as toilet paper, except it uses water, and a lot of pressure)
-The fashion/clothes worn by everyone here
-The couple that ran the internet cafe across the street from the abroad center, despite the fact that the internet was about as fast as a 44 kb/sec dial-up connection.
-My cycle (bless it's soul. It was falling apart).
-Hampi.
-Pirated DVDs sold at 20 rupees, aka 40 cents, a movie
-Seeing people or talking with people that would make me realize how beautiful life really is, and how we should learn to cherish every single moment of our life, regardless of its banality or erraticness
-Coming back home at 7:30 pm, and calling it "late" (Madurai shuts down, like Chapel Hill, after 9:30 PM)
-Waking up at 6:30 AM each morning (hopefully this will continue, cause god it felt good)
-Voice lessons (so fun)
-Wearing a Veshti/Lungi (manskirt) and not have it be a cause for concern
-Not being on facebook (alas, I'm back on it)
-Being spoken to in rapid tamil and expected to respond easily/just as fast as he/she did
-Tamil TV (indescribably hilarious)
-Playing Cricket with the kids on my program and other host brothers, always with a crowd of 15 year old boys around either staring at us like we're lunatics or smiling and waving and using the three sentences of English they knew (and us responding with the three sentences of Tamil we knew; thankfully, the sentences we both knew often overlapped)
-Incense (which was in every closed space anywhere)
-The architecture/art in temples
-The mosquitoes that hovered in my room every night. Some could make the argument that they got very up in my grill (I actually stopped killing them before I went to bed each night, and I got used to them biting me. Now I only wake up with like four bites)
-The line of ants that used to go through my room to the kitchen (it disappeared because we moved, but soon came back in the new house)
-The moustaches (every guy over the age of 18 had a moustache. My translators was, by far, the most badass: it was a handlebar stache)
-Being able to throw trash/excess food on the ground and not have anyone say "pick that shit up"
-Indians and their waiting tactics (Some people make you wait with WHATEVER you try to do, just so they can do it)
I think that's all I've got for now, there may be a more extensive list when I'm about to leave on April 29th (my flight is technically on April 30th... at 2:00 AM IN THE MORNING. WTF LUFTHANSA)
Love and miss, and I'll be back soon!
Hasan
Saturday, April 11, 2009
India #9: A Funny Thing Happened In Madurai Today...
It rained.
Why is this so funny? Why, when I woke up ready to go to Rameswaram with my family two days ago (to be told in this entry) did I laugh/find it ironic when I looked outside and lo, a thunderstorm was abrewing?
Four reasons:
A) it is the dry season here in Tamil Nadu. I have not seen water falling from the sky since it was in the form of crystallized whiteness that ordinarily greets me on my way to Anthro class at Colby. So, I laughed in joy-- because god, did it feel good to have rain fall on my face again.
B) My host brother woke up that morning, took a look outside, and lay there shocked for 2 minutes. Those whole two minutes, I was against the wall in a very Kevin Baier-like manner (specifically after he just poached the shit out of me in a game of die) laughing my ass off. His face was epic. I won't even attempt to try and describe it.
C) As part of my IS report, I have been talking about erratic rain conditions that farmers have gone through over the past 10 years. I had just finished my paper the day before, and so, when rain came booming through the heavens, I could only think of how incredible it was to rely on it for water. I began to think about how these farmers looked up at the clouds and asked "why" on a daily basis, because the dry season left them to rely on ground water, which is quickly being eaten away. And so, I looked at the rain, and I remembered my IS project, and I asked myself how these farmers will react to such a rain in a season that is termed "dry" for an obvious reason. I'll find out next week when I go visit some of them to say goodbye and thanks again before I leave for North India and, likely, will never see them again. I can only hope that I left a good enough impression in their minds; because a lot of their stories and experiences are engrained in my consciousness, as was clear when I saw the rain, and thought of them.
D) It happened a day after I was invited to one of my informants' villages to celebrate a festival with him (story to come-- pics tomorrow?). As part of the festival, they ask for a good harvest and plenty of rain for the crops. For them, it was a show of faith in nature. To me, it was an array of color; something to be photographed and told about later (which I will do here). Now I'm not saying that this festival had anything to do with the rains straight after, but it did certainly make the point that you can't just discount parts of a culture as colorful and something I should remember. It's a part of their life, and they believe in this festival and practice it for a reason. THe fact that the rains came so quickly after this festival may have been a simple twist of fate, but it was quite amazing that this happened regardless. The potential that the weather had to do with the festival can't be the sole reason behind the rains, but it was very invigorating and inspiring to see it pay off. The people that participated in the festival were dancing, and full of spirit, and didn't care about the fact that it was currently 97 degrees outside (the sun was behind the clouds). They were bathed in sweat and dancing around like the world didn't matter. I can't put words into their mouths, but to experience this was beautiful. There was no other word for it. To be surrounded by drum beats, dancing villagers, half of which balanced plants on top of their head, rambonxious kids shouting the name of a politician that had made their lives much better within the last 5 years, adults losing themselves in the practice... was beautiful. That festival revealed a people with a deep desire to live, and they lived it through spirit. And so, the rains came, and I thought of this festival, and contemplated on how real it was, and how real the after affects were...
That rain felt good to touch and smell again... but man did it fall-- hopefully not to the point where the farmers' crops get destroyed: right now they're growing dry crops, and if the fields get too waterlogged, they'll die, and the soil will erode, and it'll just be a bad situation. I can only hope for them to not have to rely on the government to pay them back for the damage caused by nature, a value that would only amount to 1/2 of what they had invested on the lands. I'll update that as soon as I visit some of these people.
And now, my update. I'm not going to update my life from last tour, because frankly, it would take far too long. Suffice it to say that the pics of Pondicherry I have on the site are enough to tell that story.
The IS period was incredible. I've never felt so alive in my life. I can't describe to you how incredible it was to go into someone else's home and talk to them about their life. THere was a spirit in their words that I couldn't describe. Whenever I ask questions to people, I usually have to wait for the answer... but I would ask a question through my translator, and they would just talk. They wouldn't stop. They wanted me to know about every single detail. One person, once I sat down in the chair and turned on my recorded, just started to talk to me; I hadn't said one word except "vannakam (greeting word)" and shook my head in a half yes half no motion (it's the Indian way to greet someone politely for the first time). I got to touch their lives through conversation, and what was so amazing about it was that they wanted me to, even though they had only met me five seconds before I uttered a word. They saw me, and they just wanted to talk. I would get back to the SITA center with 3 hours of solid interview, much of which was not at all useful to my research, but I didn't care. The stories and experiences they told me about surrounding their lives were just so real and so incredible. It wasn't that they were incredible or epic tales of struggle or even great stories to tell at parties; it was the way in which they told it to me, or how my translator translated them. It was the way in which they were so blunt, so real, so there. I can't describe it, but regardless of what information I would get from an interview, whether it be useful to my research or not, I would always come away from an interaction with these farmers and feel full of life and full of happiness. It was such a thrill to delve that close into someones life after just barely being a part of it.
What was my IS project about? well I won't write the 45 page paper that it ended up being (why it turned from a 15-35 page report to 45 pages, I have no idea, but the director said, if it makes sense, then go for it, so I did) here, or even try and recount it, because it was too complicated, but I was essentially studying how farmers around Madurai, to a large extent, have been left behind in the development model that India is using right now. Over the last 10 years, the agricultural economy has been very unprofitable for farmers due to erratic rain/water conditions (in the form of long droughts or huge torrential rain storms), overinvestment in the green revolution technologies, and a vacillating Indian market for agriculture. These factors have forced farmers to often invest, say, 10,000 rupees in their land over a three month period (the time it takes for a farmer to harvest his crops) and receive only 5,000 rupees from the crops he produced. They lose money each harvest, and are thus forced to either sell their land. Because of the money losses, they also have to borrow money, and, while the gov't gives a lot of subsidies to try and help out their money management, farmers still must deal with debt on a daily basis. "Damn my generation to hell" said one of the farmers. They have lost faith in their occupation, and in order to deal with this, they have begun to sell their land to invest in their kids education so that their children won't have to deal with this unprofitable field. The education will integrate the children into a development system that will provide them with regular wage jobs, such as a software engineer, or a teacher, or something else.
But, what is interesting about this whole situation, is that NO ONE is pointing to development as the problem. The development model that India is now running on is based on Western models of capitalism, a system that barely, if at all, helps out the lower classes. Instead, (and you'll have to trust me on this, or read my 45 pages of evidence, your choice) the development model has left people to BUY INTO IT if they have enough money, and has left out the population that most development economists have claimed to create their policies around: the poor. It favors those that can afford to get an education or integrate into this system... and farmers, trying to deal with their money issues, have only been able to do so by sacrificing themselves and their money security for their children. So, I argue, that development is leaving out what should be its chief beneficiary: the rural poor... if you want to hear more about it, I'll tell the details in person, cause I really don't want to rewrite it (beleive it or not, 45 pages double spaced is quite exhausting. Yeah, I wouldn't have thought so either).
IS was great, and it will be the part of India I remember the most. The people I met, the things I saw, and the lives I fell into filled me with such a rush of excitement: I was discovering life at the ground level, and not through a method that I have been chiefly taught at Colby: through distant sources, namely, books and scholarly journals. I don't want to sound like an elitist prick in saying this... because books are great and journals certainly have an important place in our lives (despite the fact that reading them are sometimes, in a word, a bitch) but it was just so great to get behind all the authors and understand how accounts are made... Definitely a different type of learning that I will cherish forever...
At the same time, I feel really guilty about IS. I went out and interviewed a group of people who were struggling in their society, and all for my report that would, ultimately, go nowhere. It would go to two places: A) to the SITA library of reports where other future students may use it as a template for their own research (which I doubt, cause who would read 45 pages when they could read one that was only 25) and B) to my record as a Colby student, ultimately for MY future. I used their experience for me, and I really can't get past that, cause in the long run, we're all trying to find happiness, so why should I get the credit and leave them chillin in their fields still struggling through their money problems? I dunno, I had a great time, but ultimately, I feel guilty invading these people's lives and having nothing to give back to them... and maybe, yeah, my presence as a Westerner as their guest gives them satisfaction (here to serve a guest is a great source of enjoyment and happiness), but I can't help but think that I'm leaving them with the short end of the stick.
Anyway, I have more to report, but I won't because this is far too long already, and I am quite loquacious (see comment about 45 page paper with 15 page min. required). I still have my birthday to retell, my 2 day trip with my host fam, and other IS excursions, but I can do that at a later date.
For now, I'm incredibly happy. I'm finally in India without ANY responsibilities, meaning I can just live and let live (which has, recently, become my motto). I hope you all are doing great, and I will see many of you in the near future!
Love and missage,
Has (Kerrigan/Jimmy!)
Why is this so funny? Why, when I woke up ready to go to Rameswaram with my family two days ago (to be told in this entry) did I laugh/find it ironic when I looked outside and lo, a thunderstorm was abrewing?
Four reasons:
A) it is the dry season here in Tamil Nadu. I have not seen water falling from the sky since it was in the form of crystallized whiteness that ordinarily greets me on my way to Anthro class at Colby. So, I laughed in joy-- because god, did it feel good to have rain fall on my face again.
B) My host brother woke up that morning, took a look outside, and lay there shocked for 2 minutes. Those whole two minutes, I was against the wall in a very Kevin Baier-like manner (specifically after he just poached the shit out of me in a game of die) laughing my ass off. His face was epic. I won't even attempt to try and describe it.
C) As part of my IS report, I have been talking about erratic rain conditions that farmers have gone through over the past 10 years. I had just finished my paper the day before, and so, when rain came booming through the heavens, I could only think of how incredible it was to rely on it for water. I began to think about how these farmers looked up at the clouds and asked "why" on a daily basis, because the dry season left them to rely on ground water, which is quickly being eaten away. And so, I looked at the rain, and I remembered my IS project, and I asked myself how these farmers will react to such a rain in a season that is termed "dry" for an obvious reason. I'll find out next week when I go visit some of them to say goodbye and thanks again before I leave for North India and, likely, will never see them again. I can only hope that I left a good enough impression in their minds; because a lot of their stories and experiences are engrained in my consciousness, as was clear when I saw the rain, and thought of them.
D) It happened a day after I was invited to one of my informants' villages to celebrate a festival with him (story to come-- pics tomorrow?). As part of the festival, they ask for a good harvest and plenty of rain for the crops. For them, it was a show of faith in nature. To me, it was an array of color; something to be photographed and told about later (which I will do here). Now I'm not saying that this festival had anything to do with the rains straight after, but it did certainly make the point that you can't just discount parts of a culture as colorful and something I should remember. It's a part of their life, and they believe in this festival and practice it for a reason. THe fact that the rains came so quickly after this festival may have been a simple twist of fate, but it was quite amazing that this happened regardless. The potential that the weather had to do with the festival can't be the sole reason behind the rains, but it was very invigorating and inspiring to see it pay off. The people that participated in the festival were dancing, and full of spirit, and didn't care about the fact that it was currently 97 degrees outside (the sun was behind the clouds). They were bathed in sweat and dancing around like the world didn't matter. I can't put words into their mouths, but to experience this was beautiful. There was no other word for it. To be surrounded by drum beats, dancing villagers, half of which balanced plants on top of their head, rambonxious kids shouting the name of a politician that had made their lives much better within the last 5 years, adults losing themselves in the practice... was beautiful. That festival revealed a people with a deep desire to live, and they lived it through spirit. And so, the rains came, and I thought of this festival, and contemplated on how real it was, and how real the after affects were...
That rain felt good to touch and smell again... but man did it fall-- hopefully not to the point where the farmers' crops get destroyed: right now they're growing dry crops, and if the fields get too waterlogged, they'll die, and the soil will erode, and it'll just be a bad situation. I can only hope for them to not have to rely on the government to pay them back for the damage caused by nature, a value that would only amount to 1/2 of what they had invested on the lands. I'll update that as soon as I visit some of these people.
And now, my update. I'm not going to update my life from last tour, because frankly, it would take far too long. Suffice it to say that the pics of Pondicherry I have on the site are enough to tell that story.
The IS period was incredible. I've never felt so alive in my life. I can't describe to you how incredible it was to go into someone else's home and talk to them about their life. THere was a spirit in their words that I couldn't describe. Whenever I ask questions to people, I usually have to wait for the answer... but I would ask a question through my translator, and they would just talk. They wouldn't stop. They wanted me to know about every single detail. One person, once I sat down in the chair and turned on my recorded, just started to talk to me; I hadn't said one word except "vannakam (greeting word)" and shook my head in a half yes half no motion (it's the Indian way to greet someone politely for the first time). I got to touch their lives through conversation, and what was so amazing about it was that they wanted me to, even though they had only met me five seconds before I uttered a word. They saw me, and they just wanted to talk. I would get back to the SITA center with 3 hours of solid interview, much of which was not at all useful to my research, but I didn't care. The stories and experiences they told me about surrounding their lives were just so real and so incredible. It wasn't that they were incredible or epic tales of struggle or even great stories to tell at parties; it was the way in which they told it to me, or how my translator translated them. It was the way in which they were so blunt, so real, so there. I can't describe it, but regardless of what information I would get from an interview, whether it be useful to my research or not, I would always come away from an interaction with these farmers and feel full of life and full of happiness. It was such a thrill to delve that close into someones life after just barely being a part of it.
What was my IS project about? well I won't write the 45 page paper that it ended up being (why it turned from a 15-35 page report to 45 pages, I have no idea, but the director said, if it makes sense, then go for it, so I did) here, or even try and recount it, because it was too complicated, but I was essentially studying how farmers around Madurai, to a large extent, have been left behind in the development model that India is using right now. Over the last 10 years, the agricultural economy has been very unprofitable for farmers due to erratic rain/water conditions (in the form of long droughts or huge torrential rain storms), overinvestment in the green revolution technologies, and a vacillating Indian market for agriculture. These factors have forced farmers to often invest, say, 10,000 rupees in their land over a three month period (the time it takes for a farmer to harvest his crops) and receive only 5,000 rupees from the crops he produced. They lose money each harvest, and are thus forced to either sell their land. Because of the money losses, they also have to borrow money, and, while the gov't gives a lot of subsidies to try and help out their money management, farmers still must deal with debt on a daily basis. "Damn my generation to hell" said one of the farmers. They have lost faith in their occupation, and in order to deal with this, they have begun to sell their land to invest in their kids education so that their children won't have to deal with this unprofitable field. The education will integrate the children into a development system that will provide them with regular wage jobs, such as a software engineer, or a teacher, or something else.
But, what is interesting about this whole situation, is that NO ONE is pointing to development as the problem. The development model that India is now running on is based on Western models of capitalism, a system that barely, if at all, helps out the lower classes. Instead, (and you'll have to trust me on this, or read my 45 pages of evidence, your choice) the development model has left people to BUY INTO IT if they have enough money, and has left out the population that most development economists have claimed to create their policies around: the poor. It favors those that can afford to get an education or integrate into this system... and farmers, trying to deal with their money issues, have only been able to do so by sacrificing themselves and their money security for their children. So, I argue, that development is leaving out what should be its chief beneficiary: the rural poor... if you want to hear more about it, I'll tell the details in person, cause I really don't want to rewrite it (beleive it or not, 45 pages double spaced is quite exhausting. Yeah, I wouldn't have thought so either).
IS was great, and it will be the part of India I remember the most. The people I met, the things I saw, and the lives I fell into filled me with such a rush of excitement: I was discovering life at the ground level, and not through a method that I have been chiefly taught at Colby: through distant sources, namely, books and scholarly journals. I don't want to sound like an elitist prick in saying this... because books are great and journals certainly have an important place in our lives (despite the fact that reading them are sometimes, in a word, a bitch) but it was just so great to get behind all the authors and understand how accounts are made... Definitely a different type of learning that I will cherish forever...
At the same time, I feel really guilty about IS. I went out and interviewed a group of people who were struggling in their society, and all for my report that would, ultimately, go nowhere. It would go to two places: A) to the SITA library of reports where other future students may use it as a template for their own research (which I doubt, cause who would read 45 pages when they could read one that was only 25) and B) to my record as a Colby student, ultimately for MY future. I used their experience for me, and I really can't get past that, cause in the long run, we're all trying to find happiness, so why should I get the credit and leave them chillin in their fields still struggling through their money problems? I dunno, I had a great time, but ultimately, I feel guilty invading these people's lives and having nothing to give back to them... and maybe, yeah, my presence as a Westerner as their guest gives them satisfaction (here to serve a guest is a great source of enjoyment and happiness), but I can't help but think that I'm leaving them with the short end of the stick.
Anyway, I have more to report, but I won't because this is far too long already, and I am quite loquacious (see comment about 45 page paper with 15 page min. required). I still have my birthday to retell, my 2 day trip with my host fam, and other IS excursions, but I can do that at a later date.
For now, I'm incredibly happy. I'm finally in India without ANY responsibilities, meaning I can just live and let live (which has, recently, become my motto). I hope you all are doing great, and I will see many of you in the near future!
Love and missage,
Has (Kerrigan/Jimmy!)
Friday, April 3, 2009
Nothing new to update
For those that actually follow this thing:
I'm probably not going to update for at least another few weeks because I've got a lot of IS things to do before I can be free to be in India without constraint of something I "need" to do. IS was fun, but I have a lot of frustrations with my project, one of them being that this project just will go absolutely nowhere, except to help my "future anthro skills" and gain me a letter grade and possibly even 4 credits at Colby.
I feel guilty for researching a group of poor people who are currently being gipped out of development because it is primarily a western model, and not an Indian model. The consumerist model doesn't work here. India is too complex to be fit into a model and told that "everything will be ok in 30 years, the first few will suck for this group of people and benefit this group of people", but ultimately, all it is doing is keeping some people in the same place, and in some cases, making this place less and less secure with each passing day. As a result, farmers in general have invested in their kids' education, and said "to hell with farming." One of the people I interviewed even said the following: "Damn my generation to hell" in English. I was surprised. How can you DAMN a group of people for the sake of a country? Aren't they a part of it?
More surprisingly, this group of people, farmers, and primary producers in general, make up 70% of the Indian population.
Whose development is this anyways?
Update coming soon.
Hasan
I'm probably not going to update for at least another few weeks because I've got a lot of IS things to do before I can be free to be in India without constraint of something I "need" to do. IS was fun, but I have a lot of frustrations with my project, one of them being that this project just will go absolutely nowhere, except to help my "future anthro skills" and gain me a letter grade and possibly even 4 credits at Colby.
I feel guilty for researching a group of poor people who are currently being gipped out of development because it is primarily a western model, and not an Indian model. The consumerist model doesn't work here. India is too complex to be fit into a model and told that "everything will be ok in 30 years, the first few will suck for this group of people and benefit this group of people", but ultimately, all it is doing is keeping some people in the same place, and in some cases, making this place less and less secure with each passing day. As a result, farmers in general have invested in their kids' education, and said "to hell with farming." One of the people I interviewed even said the following: "Damn my generation to hell" in English. I was surprised. How can you DAMN a group of people for the sake of a country? Aren't they a part of it?
More surprisingly, this group of people, farmers, and primary producers in general, make up 70% of the Indian population.
Whose development is this anyways?
Update coming soon.
Hasan
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Unexpected Communication
Hey everyone
I have not yet gotten my blog up to date, making this post seem a little counterproductive, but I felt like I should share one of the more special experiences that I've had since I arrived in India that justh appened to me literally an hour ago. I'm sure this type of thing has happened during other abroad experience over the last 20 (almost 21 *yikes*) years of my life, but only noticed how incredible it was for the first time today. If any of you have read Paolo Coelho, this is a similar situation to one of his short stories that I read the other day (which is why it was really ironic that this happened; maybe the universe is sending me a sign).
It was 12:00 pm; the Indian sun was at its apex, but luckily it hadn't reached the hottest part of the day yet. I was with my interpreter Senthil on his two wheeler motorbike, running errands for my Independent Study project on land purchases due to rapid urbanization and its effects on farmers' livelihoods. We had just come from visiting a nearby school that had been built on land bought from a farmer that I had talked to the day before. As we took the turn out of the school, I noticed the back wheel of our motorbike was dragging a little too much, and so did Senthil. He muttered the Tamil curse word "chit" (that can mean, great, damn it, fuck, shit, depending on your vocabulary) and said that we needed to find the nearest tire valla (tire vendor). Finding a tire valla, however, was to be a little harder than initially thought-- we were currently 20 kms from the outskirts of Madurai; all we saw were a few tea stalls and a group of men repairing and repainting three massive dump trucks to be used for some type of life job in the future. My interpreter stopped near the men with the dump trucks, told them in Tamil what the problem was, and the men wagged their head back and forth (the S. Indian version of a nod), pointed in the direction of the nearest tire vendor, and Senthil ran off to find a tire seller.
So there I sat with five Indian men dressed in lungis (a large cloth used as a type of manskirt-- decorated with ornate designs-- usually this cloth denotes that these men are of the working class) for the next 30 minutes or so in the shade of a giant tamarind tree. One of the men approached me and asked me what I was doing here. I told him I was a student in America studying in Madurai for the semester. He nodded and then asked me how I liked India. I said that I loved it; especially the food. He laughed. I asked him what he did for a living. He told me he drove trucks and got them ready to drive, which is what he and the others were doing now. He asked my age. I'm 20 I said. I'm 23 he said. We smiled at each other, a similar generational happiness, at our conversation. Two kids normally separated by half a world meeting for the first time.
Then I realized something I hadn't really noticed while I was talking to him: he had been speaking Tamil the whole time, and I had been responding in English, and yet we had little to no difficulty understanding what we were saying. The miracle of human communication had connected two people that couldn't be more different of background: I found out later that he had lived in a village his whole life; on the other hand, I had been to India twice in my life, and had been moving around ever since I can remember (rarely staying in one city or town for more than a year). It was then that I realized how special we all are, and how easy it is to understand if we honestly tried to do so. When we share our lives, we want people to listen; we just need a person with adjustable ears: one that can understand and listen with perfect clarity at all experiential sound wave levels. If we wanted to truly understand our needs, experiences, grievences, and knowledge, we could do so if we had the urge to hear the other talk without bound about his/her life. How simple conflicts would be if the egoism of our own interests would never block our ears!
My friends and family pride themselves on calling me a space cadet that can zone out with just a moment's notice, and totally miss what people say or tell me. From now on, I'm gonna seek to change that. I've heard from people that you gain the best friends in life if you are able to listen as well as you talk. Since I don't have the talking thing down very well (as most people know, I'm an awkward talker, especially after being in Madurai and losing about half of my working english vocabulary due to under-exposure), I think I'm gonna try and use my ears to communicate more often.
Hasan
I have not yet gotten my blog up to date, making this post seem a little counterproductive, but I felt like I should share one of the more special experiences that I've had since I arrived in India that justh appened to me literally an hour ago. I'm sure this type of thing has happened during other abroad experience over the last 20 (almost 21 *yikes*) years of my life, but only noticed how incredible it was for the first time today. If any of you have read Paolo Coelho, this is a similar situation to one of his short stories that I read the other day (which is why it was really ironic that this happened; maybe the universe is sending me a sign).
It was 12:00 pm; the Indian sun was at its apex, but luckily it hadn't reached the hottest part of the day yet. I was with my interpreter Senthil on his two wheeler motorbike, running errands for my Independent Study project on land purchases due to rapid urbanization and its effects on farmers' livelihoods. We had just come from visiting a nearby school that had been built on land bought from a farmer that I had talked to the day before. As we took the turn out of the school, I noticed the back wheel of our motorbike was dragging a little too much, and so did Senthil. He muttered the Tamil curse word "chit" (that can mean, great, damn it, fuck, shit, depending on your vocabulary) and said that we needed to find the nearest tire valla (tire vendor). Finding a tire valla, however, was to be a little harder than initially thought-- we were currently 20 kms from the outskirts of Madurai; all we saw were a few tea stalls and a group of men repairing and repainting three massive dump trucks to be used for some type of life job in the future. My interpreter stopped near the men with the dump trucks, told them in Tamil what the problem was, and the men wagged their head back and forth (the S. Indian version of a nod), pointed in the direction of the nearest tire vendor, and Senthil ran off to find a tire seller.
So there I sat with five Indian men dressed in lungis (a large cloth used as a type of manskirt-- decorated with ornate designs-- usually this cloth denotes that these men are of the working class) for the next 30 minutes or so in the shade of a giant tamarind tree. One of the men approached me and asked me what I was doing here. I told him I was a student in America studying in Madurai for the semester. He nodded and then asked me how I liked India. I said that I loved it; especially the food. He laughed. I asked him what he did for a living. He told me he drove trucks and got them ready to drive, which is what he and the others were doing now. He asked my age. I'm 20 I said. I'm 23 he said. We smiled at each other, a similar generational happiness, at our conversation. Two kids normally separated by half a world meeting for the first time.
Then I realized something I hadn't really noticed while I was talking to him: he had been speaking Tamil the whole time, and I had been responding in English, and yet we had little to no difficulty understanding what we were saying. The miracle of human communication had connected two people that couldn't be more different of background: I found out later that he had lived in a village his whole life; on the other hand, I had been to India twice in my life, and had been moving around ever since I can remember (rarely staying in one city or town for more than a year). It was then that I realized how special we all are, and how easy it is to understand if we honestly tried to do so. When we share our lives, we want people to listen; we just need a person with adjustable ears: one that can understand and listen with perfect clarity at all experiential sound wave levels. If we wanted to truly understand our needs, experiences, grievences, and knowledge, we could do so if we had the urge to hear the other talk without bound about his/her life. How simple conflicts would be if the egoism of our own interests would never block our ears!
My friends and family pride themselves on calling me a space cadet that can zone out with just a moment's notice, and totally miss what people say or tell me. From now on, I'm gonna seek to change that. I've heard from people that you gain the best friends in life if you are able to listen as well as you talk. Since I don't have the talking thing down very well (as most people know, I'm an awkward talker, especially after being in Madurai and losing about half of my working english vocabulary due to under-exposure), I think I'm gonna try and use my ears to communicate more often.
Hasan
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